


Memory like a Sieve

by SunflowerSupreme



Series: Witcher (A/B/O) [11]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alpha Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Depression, Gen, Omega Jaskier | Dandelion, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:54:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22353676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunflowerSupreme/pseuds/SunflowerSupreme
Summary: Dandelion, I swear Geralt is alive.Memory like a SieveOne who is often forgetful.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Witcher (A/B/O) [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1598041
Comments: 72
Kudos: 514





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> What, you didn’t actually think I was going to end on that depressing note, did you? Nah bitches, we have three more games worth of content to get through.
> 
> Spoilers for the first Witcher Game, I guess?
> 
> In case you’ve not played the game: Geralt comes back to life with amnesia.

Dandelion spent five years whoring his way across the continent.

The mark on his shoulder, which had once been a reminder of everything he and Geralt had been through, had completely vanished after the Witcher’s death. Somehow, losing the mark was worse than losing an alpha who had always been kind to him, who had not once taken advantage of him. The mark had been a constant reminder that he had a friend, and it was gone.

With war raging, the herbs for his medication were harder to come by. He found himself depending on the networks set up by omegas, where he could get bedded by a strange alpha with no strings attached and no damage to his reputation or risk of discovery. It wasn’t pleasant, but it was better than nothing.

Other times, he simply locked himself in hotel rooms or abandoned houses to wait it out.

Vizima, oddly enough, ended up being one of the few places where he still had easy access to suppressants, so he found himself spending more time there than he would have liked in other circumstances. Of course, he seldom had more than a week’s supply at a time, and spent a great deal of time stressing about getting his next dose.

But he pressed on. 

* * *

“Shani?” Dandelion shouted. He’d managed to get past the frankly terrifying old woman at the foot of the stairs, and headed up the steps to Shani’s room. The red-haired woman looked up at the sight of him, and a smile broke over her face.

“Dandelion!” she cried, hurrying forward to embrace him. “What brings you here?”

“A- a favor, actually?” He’d heard that she was in town, and since they’d been friends for years, he hoped that she might be able to get him more than a few days worth of the medication.

“Looking for him?” she guessed. “He’s not here right now, but I’m certain he’d like to see you.”

He didn’t hear her question, too busy digging into his pocket, pulling out his mostly empty vial.

“Oh,” she said knowingly. “Suppressants.”

“I’m nearly out, Shani, and it’s nearly impossible to get.” He gave her a pleading look.

“Dandelion,” she said softly. “That’s because everything’s rationed for the war and the plague.”

“Can you help me?”

“Don’t you have anyone you could ask to-”

Dandelion shivered. “No, Shani,” he said curtly. “I don’t.” He did, as it were, but he’d rather not. Instead he gave the healer a pleading look.

She sighed, taking the vial from him, opening it, and sniffing. “I can get you a few weeks worth,” she said finally. “But no more than that.”

“Thank you.”

Handing back the bottle, she asked, “Have you seen Zoltan recently?”

“He’s here?” Dandelion’s face lit up. “No, I haven’t.”

“He’s not the only one who’s here,” she said. “Geralt is back. He’s alive Dandelion.”

For a moment, Dandelion couldn’t think of anything to say. Then he very slowly sat in a chair at Shani’s table. “You must be mistaken.”

“Dandelion, I swear,” she said, taking his hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Geralt is alive.”


	2. Chapter 2

Dandelion shoved through the streets, scanning his eyes over the inhabitants of the city, looking for a familiar flash of white hair. There was a part of him - a much larger part than he would care to admit - that was certain that it was all a cruel joke.

Geralt couldn’t possibly be back, could he?

But then, Shani wouldn’t lie to him, would she?

Then he saw him.

The poet’s heart skipped a beat, then several more, and his stomach clenched uncomfortably. _No_ , he thought to himself. _No it can’t be._

But it was.

“Geralt!” he shouted, shoving through the crowd. “Geralt!”

* * *

The first time he heard his name - a distant cry of ‘Geralt!’ - he shook his head and told himself that he must be imagining it.

He kept walking, his cat’s eyes scanning the crowd. But there was no sign of a speaker.

“Geralt!” That time, he was certain he heard it, but he gave no sign. It wasn’t a familiar voice, and if it wasn’t Zoltan or Shani (the only two people in the city that he was at least somewhat certain he could trust) then he wasn’t interested. There were too many people that were out to kill him.

“Geralt of Rivia- come back here you horse’s ARSE!”

The Witcher finally stopped, looking back over his shoulder. Most of the people on the street were going about their own business, barely looking up at the sound of shouting. But there was one- Geralt did a double-take.

The man racing toward him, was quite possibly the strangest person he’d ever seen. He had dark hair, held back from his head by a leather cord, and his outfit was made of a plethora of different fabrics, all entirely different textures and patterns, although mostly in muted blue and red. Bouncing over his shoulder was a lute.

The unfamiliar minstrel finally reached him, panting slightly and out of breath from the chase. He wasted no time in grabbing Geralt’s shirt, then running his hands over the Witcher’s shoulders, as if checking that he was real. With the man so close, Geralt could easily smell the alcohol on his breath.

Although highly tempted to pull out a blade, Geralt contented himself with just shoving the man away. “I- Geralt! Geralt what are-” The musician stumbled back. Geralt hadn’t hit him too hard, so the shove must have caught him off guard. _Interesting_ , thought the Witcher. _He thought I’d be alright with being grabbed. Either that, or he’s just soused._ Because the unfamiliar poet did truly reek of alcohol - and, something else. He couldn’t quite place the smell, but there was a lingering something under the alcohol and perfume.

“Do I know you?” He would be surprised, but he clearly knows a lot of people. He just can’t place how - or why - he would know such a strange and flamboyant man.

The man’s face fell, almost comically. _That expression_ \- Geralt thought - _ought to be only allowed on very cute children or puppies_. Not full-grown men.

“You- you really don’t remember anything?”

“No.”

“Shani said you had memory problems,” said the poet.

“Shani sent you?” Geralt interrupted suspiciously. Shani hadn’t mentioned anything to him about sending a drunk poet after him.

“But I didn’t think you could forget me!”

The minstrel looked around, as though expecting an answer to jump out at him from the side streets. When nothing came, he adjusted his lute, straightened his shirt, and held out his hand to Geralt. “The great Dandelion, at your service.”

Geralt didn’t take the proffered hand. “I thought we’d already met. That’s what you said.”

“We have! At a fête in Gulet, but-” Dandelion - and that topped the list of the strangest names he’d ever heard - shrugged, pulling his hand back awkwardly. “Ah, look Geralt- uh, how about I treat you to a drink?”

“Why?”

“You must have questions! And well, if it hadn’t been Shani who said they’d seen you, I would never have believed it. Never! But I-”

“You’re still not certain I’m real.”

“I’ve had a bit to drink,” he confessed, shrugging and fiddling with his lute strap again.

“I can smell it,” Geralt promised. He still couldn’t place what else he was smelling though, which made him a bit nervous.

Dandelion almost looked as though he expected Geralt to say something - should he scold him? Is that what he would have done? - but when no such reaction came, he said, “Please, Geralt, let me treat you to a drink.”

“I’m working.”

“Perhaps I could help you! I know a lot of people! What is it you’re looking for?”

“Why should I trust you?”

Again, Dandelion seemed crestfallen. “I- Geralt, I’m your friend." He paused, then quickly said, "I'll tell you what, I’ll help you, but you don’t have to tell me what I’m helping with.”

Geralt looked at the man and sighed. Something told him he wasn’t going to get rid of him very easily. “A drink it is,” he said, and Dandelion’s face lit up. “I’d like to know about my so-called death.”

“It wasn’t so-called,” Dandelion said, hurrying off down the street, clearly expecting Geralt to follow him. With a sigh, the Witcher strode after him. “I was there, Geralt. It was a very real, very dead, death.” He shivered at just the mention of it. If he was acting, he was doing a very good job of it.

“How’d I die?”

“We were in a tavern, drinking. Your friends- er, do you remember?”

“No.”

“You, me, Zoltan, Yarpen, Triss-”

Clearly he expected more of a reaction to the names, but Geralt only nodded. “Uh-huh.”

“We were sitting in a tavern, drinking, eating - I suppose you don’t care what we were eating? There was a riot, people came to kill the non-humans, and you- you thought you could frighten them off! I should have stopped you, I’ve replayed the scene a thousand times in my mind I-” His voice grew faster and more agitated the longer he spoke. Then he stopped, sighed, and almost whispered, “You were stabbed with a pitchfork. There was nothing we could do.” Dandelion shivered, clutching the strap of his lute.

“And you buried me?”

“Well, no, not exactly.” Dandelion shrugged, scratching at his hair, then patting it down, as though afraid he’d messed it up. “We put you in a boat, there was a unicorn-”

“How drunk are you, bard?”

“Not too drunk to remember the worst night of my life,” grumbled the minstrel.

“It sounds more like a ballad than the truth, and I’ve heard mention of you. They say you spin great tales-”

“Yes, I lie in ballads, Geralt! But I wouldn’t lie to you!” He stopped, then nodded to a door. “There’s the tavern,” he said softly. “Have a seat, I’ll order.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This scene is borrowed from my other fic, [Seeing Ghosts](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22217194/chapters/53046817) because I didn't want to have to redo all of it. But there will be a much different conversation in the next chapter.


	3. Chapter 3

Dandelion pushed Geralt to a chair, then hurried up to the bartender, ordering food and drinks for them both. Once he had the glasses in his hands, he hurried back to the Witcher.

When he sat a tankard in front of him, Geralt sniffed it suspiciously before drinking it. _I didn’t poison it!_ He wanted to yell, but he stayed silent, sipping his own wine.

He couldn’t take his eyes off the Witcher. He was afraid if he blinked the man in front of him might vanish entirely.

It was Geralt that broke the silence that had fallen between them, “Is Dandelion really your name?”

“Why do you ask?”

Geralt gave him a meaningful look.

The poet frowned, tapping his finger against his glass thoughtfully.“Well- I mean- if you feel that way about it- you can always call me Julian-” He could count on one hand the number of times that Geralt - his Geralt, the one that remembered him and would never accuse him of trying to poison him - had called him Julian. It had always been in jest.

Yellow eyes studied him, and Dandelion thought he might have seen a flicker of guilt on the Witcher’s face. “Dandelion it is.”

“I’m glad.” He smiled and took another sip.

Geralt watched him impassionately. “I’d prefer you didn’t get drunk if you’re going to be answering my questions.”

Dandelion sat his glass down hesitantly. He was aware enough - and honest enough (at least with himself) - to admit he’d been drinking a lot recently. For the last five years specifically.

“How much have you had?” the Witcher pressed. Once, Geralt would have asked that with a hint of compassion, a nudge that Dandelion was going to have regrets come morning. But at that moment, it was clear he only cared about getting his information.

“I’m sober enough to answer any of your questions and drunk enough not to lie,” he promised. After a moment’s thought, he pushed the glass toward Geralt and called for a waiter to bring him tea instead. Then he propped his elbows on the table, lacing his fingers together and resting his chin on them. “What can I tell you?”

“Who are you to me?” Cold, calculating, inquisitive yet impersonal. Dandelion didn’t like it.

“Once, you would have called me your dearest friend. We traveled together a great deal.”

“Dandelion,” the Witcher said, glancing at him, running his eyes up and down the poet as though measuring him. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you- you’re no companion for a Witcher. You’re no fighter unless you’re hiding a lot of muscles under- uh, that.”

“Clothes, Geralt, clothes,” he said dryly. “Or as you would call them, ridiculous frippery.”

“That does sound like something I would say.” There was almost the hint of a smile on the Witcher’s face. Then he frowned. “Why are you in a plague city?”

“Why is anyone in a plague city? I can’t leave. Quarantined. Besides, I’m immune.”

“You are?”

“Well, I haven’t caught it yet, have I?”

“That-” Geralt shook his head. “That’s terrible logic.”

Dandelion shrugged. “I’ve been in worse. I survived the Small Pox epidemic, remember, you- oh, never mind, you wouldn’t remember that.”

“Tell me.”

“There was an outbreak here, about- oh, twenty-five years ago,” Dandelion said softly. He tilted his head, watching Geralt carefully for any sign of recognition.

“What happened?”

“I caught it. You took me to a healer, saved me.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow. “You followed me on the Path because of a life debt?”

“What?” Dandelion shook his head quickly. “Oh, Geralt- no! We were already friends, Geralt. We have been since- well, I suppose you did save my life when we met.”

“How’d we meet?”

Dandelion would have blushed if he was at all capable of feeling embarrassment. “Do you want the ballad or the truth?”

Yellow eyes narrowed. “The truth.”

“I ah- Geralt? You- you won’t think poorly of me for this, will you? You’ve not been reincarnated as a prude, I mean?” He couldn’t help the grin on his lips.

“Dandelion, spit it out.”

The poet shrugged. “I knocked up a girl, her brothers wanted to geld me and cover me in pitch and sawdust, but you, my friend, although a perfect stranger, saved me.”

“Sounds like I saved your cock, not your life.”

“That’s the same thing, isn’t it?”

Geralt choked on his drink.

Dandelion leaned back and picked at his fingernails, forcing himself not to stare at Geralt any longer.

The Witcher studied him a while longer, then leaned across the table, carefully rubbing at Dandelion’s collar. The poet sat perfectly still, resisting the urge to lean into Geralt’s touch.

Finally the Witcher said, “You’re an omega.”

Dandelion’s eyes shot around the bar, studying the patrons and wondering if any of them had noticed the conversation. It seemed no one had. “Keep your voice down,” he hissed softly.

“It’s a secret?” guessed the Witcher.

“If it got out, it could ruin my career.”

Geralt removed his hand and leaned back, still studying him. Dandelion didn’t want to admit that he missed the soft touch on his cheek.

“Omegas are a liability,” Geralt said after a moment.

Dandelion grit his teeth. “You know what, Geralt?” he asked. “I worried you’d been reincarnated into a prude, but it seems you’ve been made into an ass instead.”

“I didn’t mean it as an insult, Dandelion,” he scolds. “Stop pouting.”

“Then what was it, exactly? Because you’ve never said it before.”

“I was just-” Geralt shrugged. “Wandering what it is you _do_.”

“I’m a poet, I thought that was clear enough.”

Geralt only grunted. Then, “What can you tell me about myself?”

“What do you want to know?”

“Anything.”

Dandelion swirled his water thoughtfully. “I know your mother’s name is Visenna, that you became a Witcher when you were given to Vesemir through the Law of Surprise, that you had more mutations than most Witchers which is what turned your hair white. I know that people call you the Butcher of Blaviken because of an honest _mistake_ -”

“Explain.”

“There was going to be a massacre of innocents in the market. Rather than allow that, you killed all of those who had been planning the massacre. Unfortunately, you got in the way of a mage - who really, was just a cock - and he spread rumors about why you’d done what you’d done.”

“What else can you tell me?”

Dandelion tapped his fingers thoughtfully, then said, “I’ve been thinking and I have a question.”

“Don’t hold back.”

“Let’s imagine your next contract is a vampire. What would you do?”

“You said we’d been through a lot together. Shouldn’t you know?”

“Ha!” He grinned. Perhaps Geralt did believe him, after all. “What if I said you’d reach a deal with the vampire?”

Geralt didn’t seem amused. “Dandelion, believe me, if you could tell a bruxa to hunt rabbits, for instance, I’d be long unemployed.”

“What if the vampire doesn’t care to drink blood?”

“They inherently drink blood,” said Geralt, and Dandelion preened a bit at the idea that for once he knew more than his friend. “But I think you have something else in mind.”

“Let me show you what drinking blood means to a vampire.” For a moment, Geralt looked worried that Dandelion was going to do something stupid, but all he did was scoop up Geralt’s cup and take a long drink.

It burned on it’s way down his throat and he couldn’t help but whine slightly in pleasure. “Strong, but good.”

Geralt was unimpressed. “You were about to enlighten me.”

“I just did!” he argued. “Listen to a man who’s lived a little and not lost his memory. Higher vampires treat blood like we treat alcohol. It’s a treat for them.”

“Where are you going with this, poet?”

“Geralt, you had a true friend who was a vampire.”

Again, Geralt was unconvinced. “Did I also befriend a dragon?”

Dandelion grinned. “Actually you _did_ , so the joke’s on you. But it’s true, Zoltan would back me up, you know. And Shani.”

The Witcher raised an eyebrow, then shook his head. “You’re full of shit,” he complained. Then, before Dandelion could argue, muttered, “But I believe you.”

Dandelion beamed.


	4. Chapter 4

"Listen," said Dandelion softly, "I know it's hard to believe, but I am your friend, and as your friend-" 

"I have to go." 

Dandelion watched him stand, his mouth slightly agape. "Go?" he repeated incredulously. "What do you- Geralt wait!" he shoved himself to his feet, slightly shaky, and hurried through the inn after the Witcher. "Geralt!" 

"Stay here and sober up," Geralt said, pushing him slightly. "I- I'll come back later." Then he ducked through the door, stepping out into the sunlight and melting into the throng of people. 

It was too much to consider. Dandelion and everything he'd said was enough to make Geralt's head spin. _I don't need to add anything else to my plate,_ the Witcher thought bitterly. It was too true. He was already hunting assassins, adding dealing with a drunken omega who may or may not have once been his best friend was simply too much. 

_Focus on Salamandra_ , he told himself, gritting his teeth. Wallowing in confusion - or the strange guilt he was beginning to feel over leaving Dandelion - would gain him nothing. _Witcher's come first._

Unfortunately, Vizima wasn't the most pleasant place to spend an afternoon. The people were far from helpful, most not even bothering to hide their animosity. It made him miss Dandelion's easy grins even more.

* * *

Geralt stopped in the middle of the road. He didn’t turn back, but he knew who was behind him, even without seeing them. “Why are you following me?”

“I’m trying to help!” protested Dandelion. The poet hurried up to him, and the smell of cheap booze wafted in the air around him.

“Are you always drunk, bard?”

“If I don’t drink I get all tingly.”

“You’re an addict, Dandelion.”

“I am a functional alcoholic, thank you very much.”

“That’s not an achievement.”

The poet looked away, fiddling with his lute strap again. “I’ve spent a lot of years trying not to think about things,” he said softly. “Alcohol helps with that. Makes sleeping easier.”

Geralt studied him for a moment, then shook his head. “The old me- what would he have said?”

Dandelion seemed to consider. Then he dropped his voice, falling into what seemed to be an excellent rendition of Geralt’s accent as he growled, “You ever do that again, again, Dandelion, I’ll thrash you with my belt and you won’t want to sit for a week.”

Geralt snorted. “Don’t tempt me, poet.” Then he motioned for Dandelion to follow him. The poet bounced after him eagerly.

“Where are we going?”

“Questioning suspects.”

“Anyone I know?”

“Vincent Meis, Declan Leuvaarden, Golan Vilvaldi, Kalkstein, Thaler, Ramsmeat…… and you.”

Dandelion jumped. “Me?” he gasped. “Geralt, my old friend- I- I- please you must believe me, I wouldn’t harm the Witchers- I wouldn’t! I swear it! Anything, anything I can do to prove myself- _please_ -”

Suddenly the joke didn’t seem so humorous. “Dandelion,” Geralt said softly. “I was joking.”

“I- oh.” Dandelion looked away, then snorted. “Good.”

“Do you know any of the suspects?”

“I know most of them by name. A few by reputation.”

“What can you tell me?”

“I know Golan’s cousin, Vimme Vivaldi - and you do too. If Golan gives you trouble, I’ll remind him that we’re friends of Vimme. Since Vimme is by far the better businessdwarf, he won’t move against him or his friends.”

“Any others?”

“Declan Leuvaarden tried to buy my lute once. Thalor cheats at Gwent. Kalkstein is the offspring of a gnome and the half-wit daughter of a mayor. She wandered out during an eclipse, fell, and landed on the gnome’s dick. Thus, Kalkstien was born with the face of an ape.”

“Are you…. making that up?”

“Embellishing, Geralt. Embellishing.” At least he had the decency to look embarrassed. “But the rest was true.” 

* * *

Having Dandelion to help him was more useful than he would admit. The man knew most of Vizima - although it wasn’t unusual for him to suddenly duck behind Geralt and go quiet when the spouses of his former paramours walked by. Clearly he expected Geralt to protect him if he was noticed, and, oddly, the Witcher found himself considering it.

After all, Dandelion seemed genuinely happy to be around him, which wasn’t something he knew how to respond to. The other Witchers had been happy to see him, of course, but there was still a nagging question in the back of his head, wondering if they only had loyalty to him as a Witcher, not to him as a person. Triss was a complicated relationship, and one that he could already tell was driven by sex and lust.

But with Dandelion there was none of that. The bard laughed and chattered animatedly about whatever struck his fancy, and seemed to genuinely enjoy Geralt’s company without any expectation of reward. The Witcher was quickly losing track of the sheer number of favors Dandelion was pulling in for him, all without seeming to want a single thing in return. 

"Do you know everyone in this city?" asked Geralt.

Dandelion shook his head. "Oh no Geralt, I only know a very small fraction. But, as you've seen, I know the _important_ ones." He paused, then a grin spread over his face. "Oh! But if it's the seedy side you're looking for, I do know who would know them. An acquaintance of mine is a private eye, you see, in fact I'd say he's the best in the business." 

"Raymond Maarloeve?" Geralt guessed. 

Dandelion's face fell. "You've met him?" 

"Heard of him." Then, before Dandelion could sulk further, he added, "Could use an introduction." 

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to [Follow me on Tumblr](https://sunflowersupremes.tumblr.com/). I accept prompts, fangirling, and accusations of character abuse.
> 
> All posts about the A/B/O verse can be found [here](https://sunflowersupremes.tumblr.com/tagged/series%3A-a%2Fb%2Fo)


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